


Lockdown Lurgy

by xanthippe74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Andromeda is very patient with both of them, Banter, Cute Teddy Lupin, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drinking, Harry is impulsive, Humor, M/M, Pandemics, Roommates, idiots to lovers, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/pseuds/xanthippe74
Summary: When a dangerous virus comes to Britain, the Ministry orders a mandatory lockdown to control its spread. If Harry wants to spend the next two weeks with Teddy, he’s going to have to share Andromeda’s guest room with none other than Draco Malfoy, England’s Number One Prat. Andromeda’s collection of romance novels might save Harry from boredom, but nothing can make living with Malfoy bearable… until Harry has the inexplicable impulse to kiss him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 60
Kudos: 478





	Lockdown Lurgy

**Author's Note:**

> LURGY (noun, UK humorous): an illness or disease, especially one that is not serious. [from the Cambridge English Dictionary]
> 
> Likewise, this story is a _not-serious_ take on a serious situation. I hope you enjoy my lighthearted tale of two idiots, one adorable toddler and his exasperated grandmother, and abundant (fictional) romance.
> 
> With thanks to alwaysparis for the excellent beta read and [MalenkayaCherepakha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha) for britpicking. Shout out to my amazing cabin crew on the Drarry Discord for the encouragement and writing sprints.

**One: Get Ready**

All the lights are out, except the sitting room. The stove is definitely off. The windows are closed and locked, and the curtains are drawn. There are still some dirty clothes in the laundry bin that Harry didn’t get to, but he’ll deal with them when he gets back. After a moment’s consideration, he takes the half-finished loo roll from the bathroom, shrinks it down to the size of a marble, and pushes into one of the front pockets of his jeans. It’s not going to be of any use here, is it?

Harry finishes his circuit of the flat and returns to the sitting room, satisfied that he hasn’t forgotten anything. He’s ready, and with twenty minutes to spare.

A mysterious virus spreading in wizarding communities throughout the world finally reached England two weeks ago. Despite the Ministry’s assurances that they had the situation under control (a statement which Harry always takes with a grain of salt, given their past failures to effectively manage anything from knock-off designer brooms to Dark Lords), the number of cases has exploded in the past few days. Drastic measures were needed, the Minister for Magic announced on the wireless two evenings ago, until the Healers could find a treatment for the disease.

_“Effective at nine o’clock on Friday evening, by order of the Minister of Health, non-essential workers will be in complete lockdown in their homes for two weeks. Businesses and schools will be closed; the Floo Network will be shut down; unnecessary Apparition will result in a hefty fine. Sending letters and parcels by Owl Post will also be forbidden, due to the discovery that owls can catch this virus and transmit it to people.”_

Harry slings his bulging rucksack over his shoulders and picks up the cardboard box on the floor, bracing it under one arm so that he can turn off the lamp with his other hand. With a deep breath, he throws a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace and calls out Andromeda’s address.

“Harry!” she exclaims from the sofa when he lands, clumsily as always, in her sitting room. “You’re cutting it fine. They’re closing down the Network in a few minutes. And Teddy’s already in bed, if you came over to see him.”

“Erm,” Harry says. “Actually.”

He sets down the box with a dull thud. Even with the Lightening Charms, it’s still rather unwieldy. When he straightens up, Andromeda is looking at the box.

“You didn’t need to bring us anything. I went to the shops today and stocked up on everything we’ll need for two weeks. What bedlam! I saw two witches who couldn’t have been a day less than 110 almost come to blows over the last tin of Shrivelfig leaf tea on the shelf. _No one_ likes Shrivelfig tea.”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and glances at the clock on the mantel. Fifteen minutes left.

“So, I was thinking…” he begins. “I was _wondering_ , that is, even though it’s the last minute and I should have asked before. But I thought it would be okay, until this morning when I realised it _wouldn’t_. Um, be okay.”

“What are you asking, Harry?” Andromeda asks briskly. “Spit it out. There’s no time to waste, you know.”

“I was wondering if I could stay here for lockdown,” Harry blurts out. “I really don’t want to be away from Teddy for so long, especially since I won’t be able to talk to him through the Floo. I’d go crazy worrying.”

“And Teddy will miss you too, Harry, but it’s only two weeks.”

“But it could be longer!” Harry protests. “Hermione said that developing a new magical treatment could take much longer than that, and the Ministry only ordered a two-week lockdown so that people wouldn’t resist the idea. Please, Andromeda? You know I can help keep Teddy occupied for you. A three-year-old cooped up for that long is going to be a handful.”

“Harry,” Andromeda says, rising from the sofa to give him a gentle hug, “you know we’d love to have you here. And I have no doubt you’d be helpful—you always are. But I’m afraid I already have someone staying in the guest room.”

Harry draws back, his heart sinking at hearing the news. “Oh. Who is it?”

Even before he hears the familiar drawl from the direction of the staircase, Harry has already guessed. Of course it would be _him._

“You do understand the point of a stay-at-home order is to _stay home_ , don’t you, Potter?” Draco Malfoy asks as he leans against the doorframe of the sitting room.

“This isn’t your home either, Malfoy,” Harry points out acerbically.

“ _My aunt_ invited me to stay here during lockdown.”

“Well I just asked to stay here, too, to be with _my godson_.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Andromeda says. “There’s an obvious solution here, if you would care to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles.

“Of course, Aunt.”

“There are two beds in the guest room. I propose you share it.” Andromeda gives Harry and Malfoy each a stern look before continuing. “I’m making this offer on the condition that I get sincere promises from both of you to get along while you’re here. If we’re going to be stuck in this house together for two weeks, I don’t want any bickering, especially in front of Teddy.”

Harry exchanges wary looks with Malfoy, whose swagger of a moment ago has disappeared, either at the horrifying prospect of sharing a room with Harry or the disapproval of his aunt. His mouth is hanging open like he wants to say something to Andromeda, but can’t get it out.

“You have about ten minutes to decide,” Andromeda says. “Make that nine. If you decide not to stay, Harry, you wouldn’t want to get trapped in the Floo Network when they close it. I’ll be in the kitchen while you and Draco talk it over. _Like adults_.”

“I would really like to be with Teddy during lockdown,” Harry says quietly, after she leaves the room.

Malfoy clears his throat and glances toward the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you would consider sleeping on the sofa?”

“That’s not what Andromeda offered. Look, it’s only for a couple weeks,” Harry says, desperately hoping that Hermione is wrong, for once. “Surely we can manage it for that long.”

“Are you going to be an annoying twat constantly if I say yes?” Malfoy asks, after taking a few moments to think about it.

“I’ll try not to be, as long as you’re not a pompous git about everything.”

Malfoy sighs dramatically, crosses the sitting room, and extends his hand to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry says sincerely, shaking Malfoy’s hand.

“Oh, don’t thank me. If circumstances were less dire, I’d just as soon share a room with a Blast-ended Skrewt as _you_. But we must rise to the occasion, I suppose.”

 _Pompous git_ , Harry thinks, turning away before he decides that _circumstances_ dictate kicking Malfoy in the shins. He draws his wand and sends the cardboard box drifting ahead of him towards the kitchen.

Malfoy trails in behind him and sits at the table with Andromeda.

“So, I take it Harry’s going to stay?” she asks. “And I have your word about getting along?”

Harry and Malfoy both nod.

“All right, I’ll hold you to it. I’m happy to have you both here, and Teddy will be thrilled that you’re staying, Harry. What did you bring with you?”

“Just some extra food and supplies,” Harry says, nudging the box into the corner. “I didn’t want to use up the things that you bought for yourself and Teddy.”

“I brought some supplies, as well,” Malfoy points out.

“Yes, I appreciate them all,” Andromeda says patiently. “Thank you.”

All three of them freeze as the clock in the sitting room begins to strike the hour. They look at each other, silent and solemn, as it chimes nine times. Lockdown has begun.

“Well,” Harry says.

“Yes,” Malfoy agrees.

Andromeda rises from her chair. “I’m going to read in my room for the rest of the evening. Turn off the lights before you go upstairs, would you, boys?”

Harry manfully stays alone in the kitchen with Malfoy for approximately twenty seconds before mumbling his intention to unpack. He makes for the stairs without waiting for Malfoy to reply.

**Two: Get a Room**

Andromeda’s guest room is smaller than Harry remembers. Much smaller.

He’s never stayed here overnight before. He’s not even sure when he last saw the room, since Andromeda usually keeps the door closed to protect it from marauding toddlers. Not that there’s much of interest for Teddy to find in here, but Harry has no doubt that he’d leave it in shambles, given the chance.

Two single beds are tucked into the corners opposite the doorway where Harry’s standing. The ceiling slopes down over both of them, leaving barely enough headroom to sit up in bed. There’s a window between them, now covered by heavy, blue curtains that match the hydrangeas of the wallpaper. The only other furniture in the room is a low chest of drawers beneath the window and a wardrobe beside the door.

The room is _really_ fucking small. And Harry’s going to share it with Draco Malfoy for two weeks. At least.

Harry tosses his rucksack on the bed not covered with Malfoy’s things. Harry’s arrival seems to have interrupted his unpacking, judging by the neat piles of folded clothing and books on top of the white duvet. Stepping closer to the bed, Harry bends down to read the titles on the spines. Books on curse breaking, predominantly. One novel that Harry’s never heard of and a biography of some wizard with a long French name.

“Find something interesting, Potter?”

Harry straightens so quickly that his head brushes the low ceiling. “I didn’t hear you come up the stairs. What are you sneaking around for?”

“I am not _sneaking._ I was being quiet so I wouldn’t wake Teddy.” Malfoy closes the door behind him and casts a Silencing Charm. “The more pertinent question at the moment is, why were you snooping around my belongings?”

“I was just curious… if you brought something I might want to borrow,” Harry says quickly.

He turns his back to Malfoy and unzips his rucksack. After grabbing a handful of clothes, thinking he’d unpack the bag before going to bed, he hastily reconsiders. Everything was Shrunk and crammed in with no attempt at organisation. Or proper folding. Harry decides to unpack when Malfoy’s not around to make sarcastic comments, and he only pulls out clothes to sleep in and his toiletry bag instead.

“While I approve of expanding your mind with reading, Potter—and I have no doubt it needs expanding—I would rather you didn’t examine my belongings while we’re sharing a room. And I will extend the same courtesy to you, of course.”

“All right. That seems fair.”

“And Andromeda has a much larger selection of books, if you’re _actually_ looking to read something,” Malfoy points out.

“Yeah,” Harry says, irritated by Malfoy’s implication, “I’ll do that.”

Truth be told, he hasn’t picked up a book in ages, even the ones Hermione has given him as presents. But he’ll read _five_ bloody books while he’s here just to prove Malfoy wrong. He wonders, without much optimism, if Andromeda has anything Quidditch-related.

Malfoy reaches for a book from the pile on his bed. “I’ll be reading downstairs for a while.”

“Fine. I’ll be unpacking,” Harry replies.

“You can have the bottom drawer in the chest of drawers for your things. I’ll take the other drawer and the wardrobe.”

“Why don’t I get any space in the wardrobe?” Harry demands. Malfoy doesn’t need to know he never had any intention of using it.

“The wardrobe is already full,” Malfoy replies stiffly. “I’m sure the drawer is enough for what you brought in one rucksack.”

“How can it already be full?” Harry cries, gesturing towards the piles covering half of Malfoy’s bed.

“It’s full, Potter,” Malfoy repeats. He draws his wand and casts a complex locking charm on the wardrobe. Then, book tucked under his arm, strides out of the room before Harry can say anything else.

Bloody hell, this is already going badly.

Harry upends his rucksack and shakes out the contents onto his bed, then casts a sweeping _Finite_ at everything to end the Shrinking Charms. After taking the time to fold everything neatly before placing it in the drawer, he decides to turn in. It’s been a hectic day of running to shops for last-minute supplies, tidying his flat, and squeezing in Floo calls to friends and family to exchange a few words of encouragement before lockdown began.

On the off chance that Malfoy creeps up the stairs again and catches Harry off guard, he changes into his joggers and t-shirt in the bathroom. Thank Merlin it’s spring and not summer, he thinks. The last thing he needs is to have Malfoy see him in only his boxers. Or less. As he carries his bundle of clothes and toothbrush back to the guest room, Harry idly wonders what posh wankers wear to sleep. Satin pyjamas? An old-fashioned nightshirt?

Harry squirms and tries to banish the mental image of Malfoy’s bare legs extending from beneath the hem of a billowy, white nightshirt. He hopes that Malfoy secretly has knobby knees that he’s ashamed to show anyone. And weird feet. Harry looks down at his own bare feet before he climbs into bed. Perfectly normal, he reassures himself. Nothing Malfoy can mock.

In order to distract himself from any more thoughts about Malfoy’s body, Harry thinks about his friends. Most of them are tucked away safe in their flats or houses, with two weeks of isolation stretching ahead of them, too. Ron and Hermione are studying at home, for Auror training and a law degree respectively. Arthur, Percy, and most other non-essential Ministry workers are furloughed, though some are able to work from home depending on the department. Ginny is staying at the Burrow during lockdown, as much to keep her parents company as to escape the cramped flat she shares with two of her Harpies teammates during the off season. Bill is home with Fleur and the kids until Gringotts reopens.

Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes is likewise closed and Harry out of work with it. He’s worked there with George since the end of the war, opting to become a full partner instead of a silent one. George is still the heart and soul of the operation, inventing new joke products inspired by everything from Muggle cartoons to suggestions from kids who come in the store or write him letters. Harry takes care of the more mundane aspects of the business, such as inventory, bookkeeping, and dealing with their solicitors. There’s never a dull moment at the shop, no matter how much paperwork Harry has to grind through in a given day. And he’s thrilled to help keep the business thriving for both George’s sake and the joy it brings people.

Harry feels a pang of worry for Angelina, though he knows it’s nothing compared to what George must be feeling for his fiancee. She’s a Trainee Healer at St. Mungo’s and will no doubt be among those at the highest risk of catching the virus. Lavender, too, might end up on the front lines, even though she hasn’t finished her mediwitch training yet. There’s talk of calling nursing students in as backup if the hospital becomes overwhelmed.

Harry tosses and turns for a while in the strange bed, trying to clear his mind so he can fall asleep. Malfoy must be a night owl, he thinks as he’s finally drifting off. With any luck, he’ll fall asleep downstairs and won’t wake Harry up by clattering around their room in the middle of the night. Harry can well imagine him doing it, just out of spite.

As it turns out, Harry sleeps through both Malfoy’s return to the room and his departure in the morning. The only signs that he was there at all are the absence of his piles of belongings and a note left on the top of the chest of drawers beside Harry’s bed.

 _“Nice joggers, Potter,”_ it says.

Harry looks down at his legs, which Malfoy must have seen because Harry kicked off the covers some time in the night. They are a bit battered and fraying at the hems, but they aren’t that terrible, are they?

It’s only when Harry’s getting dressed that he notices the enormous hole in the back, over the right side of his arse. Malfoy must have had a nice view of Harry’s faded Cannons boxers with the flashing Quaffles on them. Harry sighs.

Well, today’s off to a fantastic start, isn’t it?

**Three: Get to Work**

“Harryyyyy!” Teddy cries when his godfather comes downstairs. He almost launches himself from his booster seat at the kitchen table before Andromeda, with impressive reflexes, catches him beneath the arms and sets him on the floor. Harry’s gratified to see Teddy’s hair turn a vivid shade of teal, which indicates a burst of happiness via his yet-uncontrolled Metamorph abilities.

“Hello, kiddo. Did you make me some breakfast?” Harry asks, scooping Teddy into his arms. “I’d like some waffles, please.”

“Okay, I can make you _lots_ of waffles!”

“How many?” Harry asks, readjusting his grip on the squirming toddler.

“Forty ten!” Teddy shouts. “With whips cream!”

Harry laughs and sets Teddy back in his chair. “Wonderful. I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

Andromeda pours Harry a cup of tea and slides it across the table with a smile. “Sadly, waffles aren’t on the menu today. You’re welcome to anything else we have.”

“I’ll just fry myself an egg or two to have with my toast,” Harry replies. “And then I can wash up for you.”

“That would be lovely. It’s a fine day and _someone_ needs to burn off his energy in the garden for a little while,” Andromeda replies, tilting her head at Teddy, who’s pushing an entire buttered toast quarter into his mouth. “My goodness, that’s a big bite. Give it some chews before you swallow, dear.”

“Where’s Malfoy?” Harry asks.

“Studying outside. He needed someplace a bit quieter.”

Harry gets up and finds what he needs to make his breakfast. At least he won’t have to face Malfoy for a little while. _Nice joggers_. What a prick. He’ll have to try to remember to cast a mending charm on them. Or just tell Malfoy to stop looking at his arse. That should shut him up.

“Okay there, Harry?” Andromeda asks, glancing over while wiping the crumbs off Teddy’s chin.

Harry realises he’s probably been scowling at the frying pan he’s holding for a full minute. “Yeah, fine. Just... deciding how to have my eggs. All done with your breakfast, kiddo?”

“Time to plaaaaaay!” Teddy whoops, sliding out of the chair with his gran’s help. He makes siren sounds and bolts for the sitting room, his bare feet slapping on the floor.

“Still loves that fire engine that Ted’s sister gave him, huh?” Harry laughs.

“Yes,” Andromeda sighs. “And I deeply regret charming it so it won’t need batteries. I don’t have the heart to turn the siren off, especially when Teddy knows very well that I can fix it.”

“Leave those dishes,” Harry tells her when she starts to clear the table. “I’ll get everything after I eat.”

“Thank you, dear. I am glad you’re here with us.” Andromeda heads for the sitting room with another sigh as Teddy’s sirens are joined by the engine’s.

Harry’s halfway through his breakfast when Malfoy comes in from the garden. His cheeks and ears are pink from the early-morning cold and he has three thick books clutched to his chest. He sets them on the table with a thump and gives Harry an unimpressed look. Harry, in return, chews more loudly and ignores him.

“Is there any tea left?” Malfoy asks.

“Nope,” Harry says with relish. He just poured out the rest into his mug not two minutes ago. _Excellent timing_ , he congratulates himself.

Malfoy fills the kettle with an exaggerated sigh, then takes the empty teapot from the table. Harry has to finish his breakfast with Malfoy watching him, arms folded across his chest. He makes a disgusted sound when Harry mops up the egg yolk on his plate with his last bite of toast, then licks off his fingers.

“This kitchen is a mess. If you’re going to turn up and demand to stay here, the very least you can do is lend a hand,” Malfoy says.

“I planned to right after I finished eating,” Harry retorts, immediately forgetting his determination to ignore England’s Number One Prat. “And I didn’t _demand_ to stay, I asked. You’re the one who skived off after breakfast.”

“I need to study, Potter. My aunt knows that I have to stay on top of the coursework for my curse breaking apprenticeship. Not all of us are _unemployed_ at the moment.”

“I’m not—”

“Boys,” Andromeda calls sharply from the sitting room. “Draco, why don’t you take your tea upstairs and study there for a little while. Teddy and I are going out to the garden soon.”

Other than sticking his tongue out at Malfoy on his way to the sink and aggressively Summoning the other dirty dishes from the table, Harry really does manage to ignore him until he leaves with his cup of tea.

Harry doesn’t see him again until lunchtime. Malfoy returns to the kitchen with nothing worse than a brief scowl when Harry looks up at him. He suspects that Andromeda had a talk with her nephew while Harry was chasing Teddy around the garden. He rather hopes Malfoy got a dressing down, though he knows Andromeda only needs a stern look and a few disappointed words to get her point across effectively. Malfoy will think twice before getting on Harry’s case again, he hopes.

Now if Harry could only be so sure he won’t let Malfoy get a rise out of him. They’re not twelve any more, for fuck’s sake, and he does want to keep his word to Andromeda.

Malfoy volunteers to do the washing up then read to Teddy when he’s done. Harry, not wanting to be outdone, asks Andromeda if there’s anything he can do around the house while Teddy’s having his afternoon quiet time.

“I really can’t think of anything right now, Harry,” she says.

“Oh,” Harry says, disappointed for the first time in his life not to have housework to do. “Could I borrow a book, then? I forgot to grab some while I was packing.”

Malfoy snorts softly from across the kitchen, where he’s casting dishwashing charms.

“Of course, help yourself to anything,” Andromeda replies, then laughs. “I hope you like romance novels. I should warn you, some of them are quite racy.”

“Er, I’m sure I’ll find something,” Harry says. He notices that Malfoy’s shoulders are shaking over by the sink. “Unlike _some people_ , I don’t think there’s anything wrong with romance novels.”

“I’m glad you have an open mind on the subject,” Andromeda says with a bemused expression. She shoos Teddy towards the sitting room. “Let’s go tidy up a bit, then you can pick out some books for Draco to read to you.”

Harry follows them and peruses the bookcase while Andromeda and Teddy pull toys from between the sofa cushions and make a game of finding all the wooden blocks scattered around the floor. Andromeda’s taste in reading is disappointingly narrow, and in the end, Harry just picks the book with the least-suggestive cover art. Apparently, a village magi-veterinarian is going to find love again with the new-to-town Crup breeder… who, judging by the cover, goes around with his shirt half-unbuttoned.

“Oh, that’s a nice one,” Andromedea says when she sees Harry’s selection.

“Um, good. I’ll just go read upstairs while Teddy’s having his quiet time. He can come find me when he’s done, if he wants to go back outside.”

Harry doesn’t expect to get caught up in the story so quickly, but by the time Teddy comes bursting through the door an hour later, he’s sorry to put it down. An ailing puppy is about to provide the perfect opportunity for the bloke to make his move.

“Enjoying the book?” Malfoy smirks as Harry and Teddy pass him on the staircase.

“Very much,” Harry says enthusiastically. “I’m glad I’m not stuck with the ones you brought. They’d probably put me to sleep.”

“Well, some of us have career ambitions, Potter. And the brains to pursue them.”

“Harry has a _big_ brain,” Teddy says as he jumps off the bottom step.

Harry looks up at Malfoy, daring him to contradict Teddy. Andromeda is still bustling around the sitting room, within earshot.

“I’m sure he does, Teddy,” Malfoy says.

“Of course I do,” Harry confirms, cheekily. “ _So_ big.”

Malfoy glares at Harry for a moment before he disappears into the hallway.

 _Ha!_ Harry thinks.

**Four: Get a Grip**

Malfoy’s very cagey about what he’s keeping in the wardrobe.

He never opens it while Harry’s in the room, nor can Harry catch him off guard when he comes upstairs. Harry doesn’t dare try opening the wardrobe himself—the man is studying curse breaking, after all, which means he probably knows a dozen ways to give anyone trying to undo the locking charm a nasty surprise.

Harry would like to emerge from this lockdown with all his fingers present and accounted for, thank you very much.

“What’s in there, anyway?” Harry asks, trying a direct approach the second morning of their cohabitation. Malfoy’s still sleepy and slightly disorientated, and Harry hopes to catch him off guard. 

It doesn’t work. All Harry gets is a surly _None of your business, Potter_ , followed by a view of the back of Malfoy’s pyjamas (pale blue with silver piping, no embarrassing holes) as he stalks off to the bathroom.

Harry starts guessing next, much to Malfoy’s annoyance.

“A two-week supply of fancy chocolates?”

Malfoy glares over his shoulder from where he’s chopping vegetables on the kitchen worktop. “How much chocolate, exactly, do you think qualifies as a two-week supply? And do I look like a man who could eat a wardrobe full of sweets by myself, Potter?”

As soon as Malfoy turns back to his work, Harry lets his gaze slide over Malfoy’s tall, slender form. He can’t help but notice that it’s a very pleasing view.

Harry quickly pushes back his chair and flees to the garden. He’s not embarrassed about being bisexual, but if Malfoy catches Harry looking at his arse, he’ll have to go fling himself into the sea to escape the humiliation of it.

“I know what’s in the wardrobe,” Harry says the next day, when he’s pushing trains across the carpet with Teddy and Malfoy’s flipping through a magazine in an armchair nearby.

Malfoy turns a page without looking up. “Oh, really?”

“A pet,” Harry says triumphantly. “Something small that doesn’t need light, like a tarantula.”

 _That_ gets Malfoy’s attention.

“Sweet Salazar, I am not keeping a _tarantula_ or any other animal in the wardrobe, you idiot.”

“What’s a tranchla?” Teddy asks.

“A big, fuzzy spider,” Harry tells him.

“Bigger than me?” Teddy gets on all fours and starts crawling across the sitting room.

“No, not that big. Only Acromantulas are bigger than you. They can grow to be the size of a Muggle car, and they have sharp pincers and eyes that are—” 

“That’s enough, Potter. Please stop before Teddy and I both have nightmares.”

Harry lets Teddy chase him around the room and try to pinch his legs for the next half hour, just to show Malfoy that Teddy is made of sterner stuff than he is.

Harry makes his last attempt when he finds Malfoy reading on his bed one day, surrounded by pieces of parchment crammed with notes and diagrams.

“Is it Cursed objects to practice on?” Harry asks, rapping on the side of the wardrobe.

Malfoy almost looks angry at the suggestion.

“For pity’s sake, Potter, I would never bring _cursed objects_ into a house where I’m a guest, much less one where a curious toddler lives. Accidental magic is not uncommon, even for a child as young as Teddy.”

“Oh, right,” Harry says, chagrined.

“Could you please leave now? I need to study for a few hours and it’s too noisy downstairs,” Malfoy says, holding up the curse breaking textbook that’s open in his lap.

He studies a lot, Harry’s noticed. Curse breaking is a complex business and dangerous career, he knows from listening to Bill’s harrowing tales about his work in the Egyptian tombs. At first glance, it doesn’t seem to Harry like something Malfoy would choose, and he says as much to Andromeda when they’re watching Teddy play in the garden.

“He thinks he can make a contribution in that field,” she tells Harry. “He certainly grew up around enough dark artefacts to respect how dangerous they are. There probably aren’t many people willing to take on the challenge of rendering them harmless, especially someone from a family who prizes those sorts of objects. The Malfoys as well as the Blacks,” Andromeda clarifies, with a wry smile.

“So you think he wants to… protect people?” Harry asks.

“Of course. He’s not interested in becoming a treasure hunter for the goblins. I believe he’s hoping for a career at the Ministry when his training’s done.”

Teddy lets out an ear-piercing screech when he sees a robin land on the fence.

“Not so loud, love,” his gran says patiently, glancing up at the first-storey windows.

“Shouldn’t Malfoy have stayed at his own flat if he needs to study so much?” Harry asks. “He’s always trying to find a quiet place to read.”

“I think we’re managing okay. He hasn’t complained about Teddy to you, has he?”

“No! Not at all,” Harry assures her. “I’m just surprised he asked to stay here, that’s all.”

“I invited him. I hated the thought of him spending two weeks alone, completely cut off from everybody,” Andromeda says sadly.

“I was going to stay home by myself, too,” Harry points out. “You didn’t…”

“Harry, you were going to be alone by choice. You know Molly and Arthur would have been thrilled to have you, if you’d asked. Since Narcissa left for France, Draco doesn’t have any family in England besides Teddy and me, and all his friends from Hogwarts have moved abroad.”

Just then, Ron’s Jack Russell terrier Patronus appears right over Teddy’s head and dashes towards Harry. Ron’s voice bursts from the ghostly dog’s mouth as soon as it spots its target.

_“Just wanted to check in, mate. ‘Mione and I are fine, and so’s everyone in the family. Hope you’re okay and staying busy. Send us a message soon, all right?”_

Harry smiles, happy to hear both Ron’s voice and that everyone in his family is well. Merlin, he misses them all. He feels a pang of longing for a noisy, crowded meal at the Burrow. Only ten more days until he can see them again, with any luck.

He draws his wand and looks at Andromeda.

“Go ahead. Of course I don’t mind,” she smiles.

Harry watches Teddy, who's still staring at the space where Ron’s Patronus has just vanished. He’s bright-eyed and windblown and freckled by the spring sunshine, and the sight of him is all Harry needs to cast the charm.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The stag leaps from Harry’s wand, making Teddy clap with delight. He sends it in a trotting loop around Teddy’s head before giving it the message and sending it on its way.

_“I’m fine. I’m staying with Andromeda and Teddy, and they’re okay, too. I miss you guys like mad, though. Give my love to everyone and stay safe!”_

Andromeda reaches over to pat Harry on the knee with a fond smile.

“I’m glad you’re here with us and not alone, dear. And you certainly are staying busy.”

It’s true that he’s been helping her as much as he can, but he still has plenty of free time to fill. And fill it he does… with Andromeda’s home library. At the rate he’s going, Harry’s easily going to exceed his goal of reading five books in order to shut Malfoy’s gob.

After browsing through her collection, Harry’s come to realise that there’s a surprisingly wide variety of romance novels, ranging from chaste courtship stories to passionate, illicit affairs, and every combination of genders. There are even ones with vampires and other magical beings. The second one Harry read, about a lonely novelist and his merman lover, was not only engrossing, but left him more than a little… worked up.

 _Worked up_ is not a good thing to be when you’re sharing a room—and a tiny one, at that—with a prat like Malfoy. Even with Silencing Charms, Harry doesn’t dare get himself off in bed at night, and he’s rarely in the room alone since Malfoy uses it to study. And a leisurely wank in the shower is impossible with four people (including a toddler) sharing one bathroom.

Still, Harry can’t resist pulling another book from the shelf when he finishes the merman novel. How else is he supposed to pass the time? He’ll just have to resign himself to a little frustration until he’s back in his own flat.

But, _Merlin_ , it’s not going to be easy.

**Five: Get Dirty**

By the sixth day of lockdown, Harry’s ready to strangle Malfoy.

Apparently, his coursework isn’t providing enough mental stimulation, so he’s been finding inventive ways to irritate—no, _torment_ —Harry without getting himself in trouble with Andromeda. If it weren’t for Teddy, Harry would be ready to spend the rest of lockdown walking back to London.

First, there are the backhanded compliments.

_“It’s not the worst roast chicken I’ve had, Potter. Well done.”_

_“Good idea about getting Teddy a training broom in a few years. Some practice with you before he goes to Hogwarts is certainly better than nothing.”_

_“I really do admire how you don’t waste time fussing over your appearance, Potter. Some people may say they just throw on_ any old thing _from the wardrobe in the morning. But you’ve really taken the saying to heart.”_

Then Malfoy begins teasing Harry about the novels he’s reading after he makes the mistake of leaving one lying around in the guest room.

“Oi! Give that back!” Harry protests, when Malfoy snatches _The Curse of Passion_ from the top of the chest of drawers and takes it over to his bed.

Malfoy stretches out and opens the book to a random page, flashing a coy smile at Harry. Harry sighs and goes back to folding his clean laundry, all the while bracing himself for the inevitable commentary he _knows_ Malfoy won’t be able to resist offering. Because he’s a git. Harry’s tempted to _Accio_ the bloody book right out of his hands.

After a few suggestive hums and one feigned gasp of shock, Malfoy looks up from the book and raises his eyebrows at Harry.

“What?” Harry demands, then silently curses himself for playing right into Malfoy’s hands. “They’re Andromeda’s books, not mine.”

“You seem to be enjoying them,” Malfoy observes. “You practically run back to them whenever you have a chance.”

“I don’t _run_ , you arse.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. The love scenes seem to be described with a great deal of… detail. Shall I read you an example?”

“No!” Harry almost shouts, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. He knows exactly which scene Malfoy’s looking at. Reading about a vampire orgy was quite enough the first time; hearing it aloud, with Malfoy’s deep voice drawing out every salacious word, would be unbearable. “I already finished it, so you can just borrow it if you want something more interesting than your own books.”

“Oh, I can see how _interesting_ it is, Potter.” Malfoy looks back down at the book with a smirk and pretends to read it for a moment. “And informative. Apparently, being centuries old provides time for a great deal of _practice_. I had no idea that vampires were so skilled at—”

Harry lunges across the narrow space between the beds and pulls the book from Malfoy’s hands before he can say exactly _what_ the vampires are so good at. Then, without waiting for his reaction, Harry heads for the door.

“I’ll just put this back, now that I’m done,” Harry calls back as he leaves, attempting to sound careless. Rather than someone who just narrowly dodged a humiliating moment that Malfoy would probably taunt him about for years. 

He’s careful not to leave a book lying around again.

But Malfoy does sneak up behind him two evenings later, just as Harry pulls a new book off the shelf in the sitting room.

“That one looks quite… _interesting_ ,” Malfoy murmurs, only inches behind Harry’s left ear.

If Andromeda wasn’t sitting on the sofa, Harry would probably elbow Malfoy in the solar plexus.

“That’s why I picked it,” Harry grits out, trying to figure out how to get around Malfoy besides shoving him out of the way. He’s still leaning over Harry’s shoulder studying the cover of the book.

“He looks a bit like me, don’t you think?” Malfoy says.

 _Fuck_ , Harry does think so, now that Malfoy’s drawn his attention to it. The bloke on the cover has the same pale colouring as him, with a lithe physique beneath the torn robes sliding off his shoulders. And he seems all too happy to surrender himself to the dashing pirate-wizard who’s lowering him down onto the beach of a desert island. In fact, the blond character is wearing a haughty expression that wouldn’t look at all out of place on Malfoy’s face.

Bloody hell, Harry’s seen that look more times than he can count.

“He looks like a complete tit, you mean,” Harry says, just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him.

Malfoy backs away with a huff, but it turns out that he has the last laugh in the end, even if he doesn’t know it. The entire time he’s reading the book, Harry can’t separate the arrogant, sharp-tongued character from Malfoy in his mind. The arsehole turns out to be a sexy bastard that the pirate can’t resist, and Harry spends an uncomfortable evening reading scenes of enthusiastic, below-deck lovemaking.

He can’t look Malfoy in the eye the next morning.

Unfortunately, it’s also the day that Andromeda decides to give Harry and Malfoy a task to work on together.

“I haven’t had a spare afternoon all spring to get the garden tidied up, and I’m afraid the weeds will take over soon. Would you boys mind helping out with it today, since the weather’s fine?”

Of course they can’t say no, so after lunch she unlocks the little tool shed in the corner of the back garden and pulls out a pair of pruning shears and a rake.

“Why not just use magic?” Malfoy asks when he sees them.

“Those spells take quite a bit of practice if you don’t want to slice the hedge to pieces. Best do it this way for today,” Andromeda replies, giving the shears a test snip. 

Despite his wariness, Malfoy claims the task of pruning the long yew hedge that runs along one side of the garden, leaving Harry with the task of weeding beneath it. After raking out the layer of dead leaves that blew under the hedge during the winter, Harry gets down on his hands and knees to start pulling out the weeds that have sprouted there.

Halfway along the hedge, Harry stands to stretch. He’s sweating and filthy up to his elbows, and he’s sure his face is dirty too from pushing his fringe out of his eyes. Malfoy, he notices, has barely finished ten feet of pruning—conveniently within the shade of the house. He’s snipping so slowly and cautiously that Harry can’t help calling over to him, despite their promise to Andromeda.

“All right there, Malfoy? It’s going to grow back again by the time you’re done, if you can’t go faster than that.”

Malfoy glares across the garden at Harry. “It’s called _taking pride in one’s work_ , Potter, and it requires a great deal more care than yanking weeds out of the dirt.” 

“Oh, my god, Malfoy. It’s not surgery, for pity’s sake. Let me show you.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans and stalks over to Malfoy.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asks, alarmed.

“Showing you how to do it.” Harry reaches for the pruning shears. “Give me those. I’ve actually done this before, you know.”

Malfoy holds the shears behind him, out of Harry’s reach, and backs towards the house.

“I have it under control, Potter. Go back to your job and let me do mine.”

“I’m trying to help you, you git. There’s a faster way than snipping one tiny piece at a time.”

Harry advances until Malfoy’s back is pressed against the side of the house.

“Stay away from me! You’re filthy.”

Harry holds up his hands with a grin and makes claws with his fingers, causing Malfoy to sneer in disgust. While he’s distracted, Harry tries to reach around his back for the pruning shears. He only manages to get hold of one of Malfoy’s wrists before he’s knocked off balance and catches himself with a hand against the wall next to Malfoy’s face.

“Get off, you horrible cretin,” Malfoy cries, sounding for all the world like a character from one of the historical romances Harry’s been reading.

“No,” Harry says and does what any rakish love interest would do: he kisses him.

They’re both so overcome with shock that it takes a full three seconds for Harry to pull back. He hears the shears clatter against the wall as Malfoy fumbles them.

Andromeda’s voice calls through the open kitchen window while they’re still staring at each other, wide-eyed and frozen.

“I hope you two aren’t fighting out there!”

Malfoy makes a strangled sound, then manages to say, “No, Aunt. We’re not.”

Harry slaps his hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing. When Malfoy looks down at the dirty cuff of his shirt, then back up at Harry in outrage, Harry can’t hold it in any longer. He doubles over in muffled giggles.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Malfoy hisses at him.

“I don’t know!” Harry gasps after a few moments, when he’s able to breathe again and straighten up.

Malfoy’s scowl sobers him quickly, and then the horrifying thought that he just _kissed Malfoy_ drains the rest of the humour from the situation.

“Erm, I’ll just…” Harry mumbles, gesturing toward the place where he left off pulling weeds. “Sorry.”

“Yes, well. I certainly hope so,” Malfoy says, attempting to sound stern. He clears his throat and holds up the pruning shears. “We should—”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

After that, Malfoy’s speed improves dramatically. He obviously wants to get the job done as quickly as possible.

Harry, meanwhile, slows down, wishing he could crawl under the hedge and never come out again.

If Andromeda notices the jagged appearance of her yew hedge, or wonders why it takes Harry four hours to weed beneath it, she doesn’t say anything.

**Six: Get Along**

“I’m going to be studying upstairs,” Draco tells Harry and Andromeda the next evening. “I’ll come back down here whenever you want to go to bed, Potter.”

“Okay, thank you,” Harry replies cordially.

As Malfoy leaves, Andromeda glances at Harry, but he pretends to be engrossed in the programme that’s playing on the wireless. It’s an old interview with a bloke who studies some kind of magical rodent that lives its entire life underground, and Harry finds it about as interesting as a pair of old socks. It’s still better than acknowledging to Andromeda that he and Malfoy are acting strangely.

It’s been like this ever since _the incident_ in the garden. By unspoken agreement, they’re both being painfully polite to each other, which apparently is better than risking another antagonistic encounter that turns into… something else. It’s awkward and surreal, and it’s no wonder that Andromeda has picked up on it.

Harry still can’t figure out what possessed him to do it.

All he remembers is the irritation he felt at seeing Malfoy working so slowly, followed by frustration that the stubborn git wouldn’t let Harry help him. Then the startled expression on his pale face when Harry trapped him against the wall, quickly replaced by the vivid—much _too_ vivid—memory of the sensation of Malfoy’s hard mouth against his.

It wasn’t even close to what Harry would consider a real kiss. It was more of an accident, really. Now, if Malfoy had kissed him back… maybe put his arms around Harry’s waist and tilted his head a bit… let his mouth soften so that Harry could—

 _Oh, shit_.

He makes sure that Andromeda hasn’t noticed his attention drifting away from the whatever-they’re-called moles on the wireless. Merlin, he needs to stop reliving that one unfortunate moment of insanity if he’s going to make it through the rest of this lockdown with his dignity intact.

Harry reminds himself that Malfoy’s a complete prat and someone he should definitely not kiss ever again. Only two days ago, he asked Andromeda—in the middle of lunch!— if she knew any mending charms for the _unfortunately situated_ holes in Harry’s joggers. Then Malfoy pretended to be offended that Harry was upset about it, because he was _just trying to help._

On second thought, maybe Harry should be grateful that Malfoy isn’t tormenting him anymore.

Harry gives up on the mole expert’s ability to keep him distracted and picks out another book. Two witches, this time, working together to crack a case involving illegal (and potent) love potions. The cover shows them stalking through a grimy alley, Auror badges catching the light of the street lamps.

 _Perfect_ , Harry thinks. Not a single sexy, blond bloke in sight.

The next day brings more of the same. The four of them have settled into a routine of sorts, which is mostly built around Teddy’s schedule. Harry and Andromeda switch off at keeping Teddy occupied during the day, while Malfoy studies in the guest room for hours at a stretch. When he emerges for meals or to help with some chores around the house, he and Harry maintain the same cool civility that’s somehow more tense than their bickering.

It’s funny, Harry thinks, that this is what it took to make them get along after almost ten years of fighting. Not that they fight anymore, not since the end of the war. Harry only ever sees Malfoy here at Andromeda’s house, where they’ve continued to scowl and sneer at each other. Neither of them have felt inclined to move beyond this detente by doing something absurd, like trying to have a conversation. Malfoy did apologize to Harry, very stiffly but sincerely, when he first started visiting his aunt and cousin, but he’s never shown any interest in getting to know Harry. They certainly have a lot of history behind them that would make a friendlier relationship difficult.

And now they have this sort-of-kiss to deal with, which has just made things _strange._

When Harry goes up to bed the following evening, he finds Malfoy pacing around the room, looking distressed. His books and notes are still scattered around his bed, and Harry’s first thought is that Malfoy was upset by something he read. Or maybe he’s having some kind of internal crisis about his career choice.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asks, breaking with their recent custom of ignoring each other when they’re alone together. Especially in this room.

“I think I might have a fever,” Malfoy says hoarsely. “I’ve been feeling rather hot ever since I came upstairs, and I can’t stop thinking about what the Minister of Health said on the wireless today.”

“Um, what did she say again?” Harry asks, noticing Malfoy’s flushed face now.

“That it’s one of the first signs of the virus! _Fever and blurred vision,_ Potter! Don’t you pay attention?” Malfoy holds out his arm and squints at his fingers, then looks at Harry imploringly. “Could you check my temperature for me? I don’t want to worry Andromeda just yet.”

“Okay, sure,” Harry says, taking three long steps forward to stand in front him. He reaches for Malfoy’s forehead.

Malfoy raises his arms to block him. “What are you doing, you pillock? I might be contagious!”

“I’m checking to see if you feel hot. Stay still!”

“Use the charm, for fuck’s sake!”

“I don’t know it!” Harry says, beginning to get exasperated. ”Just let me try this way.”

He waits until Malfoy stops protesting before gently placing a hand on his forehead under his fringe. Then Harry does the same on one flushed cheek. Malfoy stays as still as a frightened rabbit, eyes wide open and locked on Harry’s face.

“You feel fine to me,” Harry says softly, lowering his arm. “It’s probably just stuffy in here. Do you want me to open the win—”

Malfoy’s hands are suddenly on Harry’s biceps and he’s leaning forward. Harry barely has time to register what’s about to happen before Malfoy kisses him.

This time, it’s careful and soft, and not _quite_ as much of a shock. Harry lets Malfoy’s lips slide over his, just once, before he pulls back a little to look at Malfoy questioningly.

“Um, okay,” Harry says.

“Okay?” Malfoy asks, his lips barely moving.

“Sure, I guess.”

That’s all that Malfoy needs to hear to kiss him again. And it’s a good one this time, sending a thrill through Harry that makes his toes curl into the carpet. Malfoy’s still gripping his arms, and Harry isn’t sure what to do with his own hands. He tries putting one on Malfoy’s waist. The warmth that bleeds through the fabric from Malfoy’s body is almost as exhilarating as the press of his mouth, which is now fully engaged with Harry’s.

Malfoy abruptly lets go of Harry with a soft gasp.

“What the fuck are we doing?”

“I don’t know!” Harry says, surprisingly annoyed that Malfoy stopped kissing him. “You started it.”

“No, I believe _you_ started it in the garden.”

Malfoy must hear his own voice rising, because he stops himself and sits down heavily on the edge of Harry’s bed. Harry sits too, almost an arm’s length away, and watches Malfoy run his hand over his face. He’s forgotten about his supposed fever, it seems.

“Do you even like blokes?” Malfoy asks.

“Yes,” Harry says defensively.

“Ever kissed one before?”

“Yeah.” Harry isn’t planning to tell him any more than that, but then Malfoy raises a sceptical eyebrow. “I kissed Fleur’s cousin when he was visiting here last summer. Have you?”

“Sure,” Malfoy says with a shrug. “I realised a long time ago that I’m not interested in kissing women. I just can’t think of a single reason to kiss _you._ ”

Harry huffs a laugh. “Yeah, same.”

They sit silently for another minute before Malfoy says, “You aren’t angry about it though, are you? That we…”

“No, obviously not. Just surprised. That I’d want to.”

Harry considers opening the window and throwing himself out of it after this admission, but Malfoy saves him the trouble by standing up and moving towards the door.

“Me, too,” Malfoy says when he has a hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to get some fresh air for a little while.”

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry calls, just before he slips through the door. “Do you think it might... happen again?”

Malfoy’s face brightens, and then his lips curl into a faint smirk.

“It might, Potter. It might.”

**Seven: Get Away with It**

Despite the fact that neither of them object to the idea, it doesn’t happen again right away.

Which is driving Harry crazy in a way that utterly baffles him. Why does every kiss he reads about make him think of the one they shared in the guest room? Why would he even care if Malfoy doesn’t want to do it again?

Harry’s tempted to send off a Patronus to Hermione and Ron with a message along the lines of, _“Malfoy’s still kind of awful but for some reason I like kissing him. Please come hex some sense into me.”_ But that would probably alarm them. He’s either going to have to work this out on his own (which seems unlikely) or just try not to think about it so much (not likely at all).

Malfoy seems intent on ignoring the bizarre turn lockdown has taken. He’s careful to go to bed after Harry and leave the room in the morning before he wakes up. And they’ve resumed a distant politeness that would be expected between strangers, rather than two people with a messy, ten-year history behind them. Either Malfoy’s decided he’d rather forget what happened or he’s got a bloody good poker face.

In the meantime, he pays more attention to the way Malfoy interacts with Teddy and Andromeda. Harry knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find that Malfoy’s always unfailingly kind and helpful—Andromeda would never allow him to be part of her and Teddy’s lives if he wasn’t. But there’s a warmth and humour there that Harry never noticed before, probably because he’s usually occupied with insulting or being insulted by Malfoy. Now that their animosity has ended (or at least been put on hold), it’s obvious that he’s developed a genuine bond with his aunt and cousin.

After almost two days of being ignored, Harry can’t take it anymore.

When he’s left alone in the kitchen with Malfoy while Andromeda puts Teddy to bed, Harry reminds himself that he’s a bloody Gryffindor, for fuck’s sake, and makes his move.

Malfoy doesn’t even seem surprised when Harry takes hold of the sides of his button-down shirt and spins him around. In fact, he looks a bit smug.

“Well?” Malfoy asks, not moving towards Harry or touching him at all.

Harry’s not in the mood to play games. He pushes Malfoy back a half step until his arse hits the edge of the kitchen worktop.

“Do _you_ want to?”

Malfoy just shrugs, a sly smile spreading across his face.

Harry lets go of his shirt and walks out the back door without a word. He’s not going to chase Malfoy only to make a fool of himself. He only gets as far as the bottom of the steps to the garden before Malfoy catches up with him and grabs his arm.

“Yes,” he says simply, then cups Harry’s face with his hands and kisses him.

They have their first proper snog right there in the twilight, with the light from the kitchen spilling over them. Malfoy’s hands are warm on Harry’s jaw and neck. His mouth is doing wonderful things that make Harry feel a bit lightheaded. Harry decides that he definitely needs to spend more time kissing someone in real life (and right now Malfoy’s proving to be an excellent choice of _someone_ ), and less time merely reading about it.

Harry reluctantly pulls away to remind Malfoy that Andromeda will be coming back downstairs soon. They sit side by side on the back steps and let the evening air cool their flushed faces.

“Yes, I do want to,” Malfoy repeats with a sigh. “But if I’m honest, I have no fucking idea why.”

“Me, neither,” Harry admits. “It’s pretty confusing.”

“I think this lockdown situation has addled our brains. The stress. The uncertainty. The constant fear of stepping on a small, pointy toy left on the carpet. It’s obviously affecting our judgement.”

“It’s only been—” Harry pauses to count on his fingers. “—ten days. I think it takes longer than that for a person to lose the plot.”

“Well then, I suppose we may as well embrace the madness.” Malfoy leans back on his hands and gives Harry a wry look. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, why not?” Harry hears Andromeda’s footsteps on the stairs, so he gets to his feet. “Besides, this is the first time you’ve ever stopped trying to make my life miserable. That’s a good enough reason, all by itself.”

Harry darts out a hand to tousle Malfoy’s hair before he steps back into the kitchen.

“Twat,” Malfoy calls after him.

“Brat,” Harry replies.

After that, neither of them hesitate to seize an opportunity when it comes.

Harry pins Malfoy against their closed bedroom door when Andromeda sends him upstairs to summon Malfoy for lunch. Harry has the revelation, just before he presses their mouths together, that seeing Malfoy’s familiar, pointy features up close induces very different feelings than seeing them afar. Thankfully, Andromeda’s preoccupied with Teddy and doesn’t ask why it takes ten minutes for them to arrive in the kitchen.

That same day, Malfoy catches Harry coming in from the garden for a glass of water and pulls him into the pantry for a few blissful minutes. He felt bold enough to let his fingers graze the curve of Malfoy’s arse, so he reckons the bruise on his lower back from the corner of a shelf was worth it.

Without talking about it, it seems they’ve both decided not to start anything in the guest room at night. A bit of kissing on the sly is one thing. It’s harmless fun, right? Doing more than that would open up a jar of snakes that Harry’s not ready to deal with. Malfoy’s a git. An attractive git who’s a talented kisser, granted, but Harry has no idea what Malfoy’s going to do after lockdown ends.

A little reminder of the outside world that’s waiting for them bursts in unexpectedly the next day.

Harry’s got his eyes closed and Malfoy between his legs as they’re snogging against the side of the shed that’s hidden from view from the house. It’s late afternoon and the wind is rustling the trees overhead. The warm press of Malfoy’s palms against the bare skin of his lower back makes Harry’s breath catch in his throat. _More_ , he thinks. But just as he’s about to pull Malfoy’s hips closer to his, a voice rings out close to their ears.

_“HARRY!”_

“Fuck!” Malfoy says, bringing his hand to his mouth where Harry knocked against it with his teeth.

Hermione’s otter Patronus is hovering next to them, fidgeting anxiously.

_“Please tell us if you’re okay! There’s a rumour going around that you’re in St. Mungo’s and we can’t get ahold of Angelina. Send us a message right away, if you can!”_

“Shit,” Harry murmurs, letting his head tip back against the shed with a thud. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” Malfoy says. He’s dabbing his lip with his handkerchief.

While the Patronus was speaking, he took a step back from Harry and collided with the tall bush behind him. Harry can see a few bits of leaves in his hair.

“Sorry. Here, let me…” Harry draws his wand. “I can cast an _Episkey_ on that for you.”

“You don’t know the charm to check someone’s temperature, and I’m supposed to trust you with an _Episkey_?”

“It’s either that or find a way to explain to Andromeda how you cut your lip while you were _studying_ in the garden,” Harry points out.

“Oh, fine,” Malfoy says, letting Harry cup his chin and cast the charm. He pulls away when Harry tries to lean in to kiss him again. “Oh, no you don’t. You better send a message back to Granger before she really starts panicking.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Harry leans against the shed again after Malfoy leaves, trying to focus on casting the charm. He sends his stag away with a reassuring message for Hermione and Ron, then ambles back across the garden. Before he takes ten steps, Teddy and Andromeda come out the kitchen door. Teddy makes a beeline for the bench where Draco’s sitting as soon as Andromeda releases his hand at the bottom of the stairs.

After climbing up to kneel next to his cousin, Teddy reaches out towards Draco’s head with his chubby hand.

“You have leaves in your hair!” Teddy laughs.

Draco does an admirable job of keeping his cool. He brushes off his hair, then settles Teddy beside him on the bench.

Harry, on the other hand, stops dead in his tracks halfway to the house. Andromeda raises her eyebrows at him.

_Oh, bloody hell._

**Eight: Get Pissed**

“Potter.”

Malfoy’s standing in the doorway of the sitting room, beckoning to Harry. He sets down his book and follows quietly. Andromeda just went upstairs to bed and the house is silent.

He expects to be led into the kitchen or even the pantry for one last, clandestine snog before they turn in, but Malfoy pads softly up the stairs to the guest bedroom. When Harry closes the door behind him, he’s startled to see Malfoy cast a Silencing Charm on the room.

“Don’t look so worried, Potter. I’m not going to jump you,” Malfoy snickers. “I just thought we could have a drink to celebrate my birthday.”

He reaches into the top drawer and pulls out a square bottle and two glasses, and sets them on top of the chest of drawers.

“Why did you bring two glasses if you didn’t know I’d be here?” Harry asks, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I thought Andromeda might like some, but… I suppose you could say that a new and more interesting possibility arose,” Malfoy says with a raised eyebrow. He pours a couple of inches into each glass and passes one to Harry. “Savour that. It’s not that swill Ogden’s makes.”

Harry takes a tiny sip, letting himself get used to the burning sensation on his tongue and throat before drinking again. He learnt the hard way that it’s best to ease into a glass of Firewhisky, otherwise you end up curled into a ball while your _supposed_ mates cast Cooling Charms at your mouth and laugh at you. Hilarious.

“It’s good, thanks,” Harry says.

“It should be,” Malfoy replies, picking up the bottle to look at the label. “It’s older than both of us put together. By the way, this is the moment when you would propose a toast in my honour, if you weren’t an utter cretin.”

“I already wished you happy birthday today, when we had the cake!” Harry protests. He holds up his glass with a sigh. “Fine. Many happy returns of the day and may you live to celebrate one-hundred more birthdays. How’s that?”

“Terrible. It sounds like a card that you’d give a coworker you hardly know. Maybe you’ll think of something better if you drink more.”

“Doubtful,” Harry says. He scoots back and gets comfortable with his back against the pillows. “I’m terrible at making speeches.”

Malfoy mirrors Harry’s position on his own bed, legs crossed at the ankles. “I’m sure people would line up to hear them anyway. You must have been asked to.”

“Asked and turned them all down,” Harry laughs. “This is very strong Firewhisky.”

“It’s _good_ Firewhisky. Probably the best you’ll ever have.”

They sip their way through the first round without talking much. Harry supposes they could chat about Quidditch. Or his job or Malfoy’s apprenticeship. But making that kind of bland small talk with the bloke whose tongue you’ve recently become intimately acquainted with seems vaguely insulting. Nor are they at the point where making drunken confessions or having a deep conversation would be a good idea. Harry decides that casual silence is the safest option here.

Despite the fact that Harry can tell he’s halfway to legless, he lets Malfoy pour him a second glass without comment.

“What would you be doing for your birthday if there wasn’t a lockdown?” Harry asks, bracing himself with a hand against the duvet when the bed begins tilting.

“The same, probably, if I were here in England. But in my flat. Not my aunt’s guest room,” Malfoy clarifies, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He looks very young and tired, with his toes wiggling in his socks and the cuffs of his sleeves hanging open, exposing his slender wrists. “If I were in France with Mother, we’d have my favourite meal for dinner and open an _excellent_ bottle of wine.”

“Oh. That sounds…” Harry stops himself before he says _lonely._ He remembers what Andromeda told him about Malfoy’s friends moving abroad. “So, this is something different, yeah?”

“Not what I was expecting, certainly.”

Malfoy tilts his head in Harry’s direction and gives him a heated look. At least, Harry’s squiffy brain interprets that way. He climbs off the bed, sets his empty glass down on the chest of drawers—which, unhelpfully, keeps trying to dodge his hand—and staggers over to Malfoy’s bed. Luckily, Malfoy still has the presence of mind to put his own glass down before Harry falls on top of him.

“I swear, if you give me another bloody lip, Potter…” Malfoy begins.

But that’s as far as he gets before Harry straddles his legs and kisses him clumsily. Honestly, it’s a small miracle that Harry doesn’t bash his head against the low ceiling, especially since Malfoy’s bed is lurching, too. Stupid beds. He reaches over to grab the top of the wooden headboard and accidentally catches Malfoy’s hair.

“Ow! Potter!”

Malfoy shoves Harry back gently. Then he nudges Harry off his lap so that he can move over to the side of the bed closest to the wall. Harry blinks at him for a moment, not sure what to do, until Malfoy orders him to lie down next to him.

“Mmm, better,” Harry murmurs, when they’re face to face, lying on their sides. He feels the heat of the Firewhisky radiating out from his stomach, through his limbs. Malfoy’s face is swimming in front of him, so Harry reaches up to press a finger to the corner of Malfoy’s mouth to help him find his target.

They tangle their legs together and taste the whisky on each others’ breaths between kisses. It’s unhurried but intense, making Harry feel like he’s floating in a warm sea of intoxication and mild arousal. He slides his fingertips down Malfoy’s neck, inside his collar, to graze the line of his collarbone. His skin feels so nice, so soft, that Harry reaches for the top button of Malfoy’s shirt.

Malfoy’s fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Wait,” he says, “we’re pretty drunk. I don’t think we should... do this now.”

Harry opens his eyes and takes in Malfoy’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He lets his head sink into the pillow, suddenly feeling very drowsy.

“Yeah, prob’ly not,” Harry agrees. He drapes his arm across Malfoy’s waist and closes his eyes again. “You just wanna cuddle?”

Malfoy makes a garbled sound.

“ _Potter._ That’s…” He huffs disbelief. “That’s the single most most horrifying thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What?” Harry laughs. “Cuddling?”

“Yes. The Killing Curse would have been less shocking. _Honestly_.”

Harry laughs at him some more until Malfoy gets fed up and pushes him towards the edge of the bed. He remembers at the last second that crashing onto the floor would hurt, so Harry stops trying to hold on and carefully gets to his feet. When he’s sure he’s not going to topple over, he gets changed for bed. He’s too far gone tonight to care if Malfoy sees him in his pants.

Malfoy still hasn’t moved since Harry got up. He’s watching with his lips slightly parted as Harry pulls his tattered joggers up over his hips.

“Are you gonna sleep like that?” Harry asks him.

“Um, no.” Malfoy pushes himself upright and runs a hand over his hair. “I’ll change in the bathroom, I think.”

He finds his pyjamas while Harry takes off his glasses and gets into bed. The mattress feels so comfortable, and Harry yawns enormously into his pillow.

“Thanks for the whisky,” he tells Malfoy sleepily. “Was good. Nice birthday?”

Malfoy hesitates for a few beats, then says, “Yes, it was nice. The best I’ve had in awhile, I think.”

“Oh, good,” Harry says.

The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is the blurry shape of Malfoy standing between their beds, looking at him. Harry hears him turn off the lamp and leave the room, but is fast asleep before he returns.

In the morning, he awakes to the merciless June sunshine attacking him through the curtains and a splitting headache pounding at his skull. When he reaches for his glasses, his hand falls on something smooth and round—a half-full vial of Hangover Potion, lying on top of a folded scrap of parchment.

 _“You snore when you’re drunk, arsehole,”_ it says.

Harry drinks the potion with a smile.

**Nine: Get Through It**

“When are you going back to your house?” Teddy asks Harry as they’re resting on the grass after a few spirited rounds of the game they call “Wolf Pack.” There’s a lot of running and howling and chasing of imaginary rabbits.

“Hopefully just a couple more days, kiddo,” Harry tells him. “We have to wait until the Ministry tells everyone it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Teddy echoes. He crawls over to his toy dumper truck and starts pushing it around the garden.

Harry stretches out on the grass to watch him. He’s learnt that toddlers don’t want long explanations for their questions.

The full story is that a group of Healers in Cairo has developed a promising treatment for the virus. They’re hopeful that another day or two of observation and tests will confirm that their patients have fully recovered, and that hospitals in other countries can begin using the treatment, too. If all goes well, this will coincide with the end of the two-week lockdown in Britain.

Draco brought his bottle of fancy Firewhisky downstairs after the announcement was made on the wireless last night. He, Harry, and Andromeda had a quiet celebration after Teddy went to bed, toasting the Healers who made the breakthrough. While Andromeda was in the kitchen getting glasses, Draco warned Harry that he didn’t have any more Hangover Potion. Since he knew the potency of the whisky all too well from the night before, he only let Draco pour him a very small amount this time.

Since then, Harry’s been trying not to think about what’s going to happen with Draco after they leave Andromeda’s house and return to their normal lives. When he did consider it last week, after they first started sneaking around, every possibility—from pretending nothing ever happened to being Malfoy’s boyfriend—seemed either unrealistic or absurd. It’s easier to just put the question out of his head and enjoy the lovely things Malfoy can do with his mouth.

On the last full day of lockdown, heavy rain keeps them all indoors. Andromeda is laid low with a bad migraine, so Draco offers to forego studying for the day and help Harry keep Teddy busy. It’s exhausting and a little bittersweet. Harry knows he’s going to miss spending so much time with his godson.

In the meantime, he and Draco pull out all the stops for Teddy. They make a fort with sofa cushions and blankets, bake biscuits, build roads and bridges with wooden blocks for Teddy’s toy cars, and read him all his favourite books.

Harry tries to sneak a kiss in the kitchen while Teddy’s in the other room, but Draco’s not having it.

“You’re covered in flour, Potter. What are you even wearing an apron for?”

“You try baking with a three-year-old and see how clean you stay. We’re lucky there isn’t biscuit dough on the ceiling.” Harry casts a cleaning charm on himself. Then he casts another on the floor and the worktop for good measure, even though he knows he’ll have to do it again soon—he rashly promised Teddy icing and sprinkles on the biscuits.

Teddy runs back into the kitchen before Harry can make another attempt with Malfoy. An hour later, he wishes he could follow Malfoy upstairs when he leaves with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits for Andromeda.

Instead of getting _whatever this is_ out of his system, Harry’s beginning to worry that this inexplicable urge is only getting stronger.

Andromeda’s feeling better by dinner time, so Malfoy takes the opportunity to study upstairs all evening. Harry resists the temptation to interrupt him. Malfoy did spend all day helping take care of Teddy, after all, and Harry was grateful for the company. He chuckles as he stirs the pot of pasta on the hob, thinking how inconcievable spending hours in Malfoy’s presence without bickering was just two weeks ago. At the very least, they’ve finally figured out how to get along.

After finishing what is probably his tenth book ( _tenth, Malfoy!_ ) from Andromeda’s bookcase, a suspenseful romance between a Herbologist and her reluctant guide through the dangerous jungles of Colombia, Harry decides to see if Malfoy’s done studying for the night. He turns out the lamps in the sitting room and creeps upstairs.

He finds Malfoy fast asleep, surrounded (as Harry now knows is his habit) by open books and parchment. His head has fallen forward so that his chin is resting on his chest, and the hands that were holding the book on his lap are curled loosely at his sides. Harry is rather charmed against his will.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispers, shaking him gently by the shoulder. “Wake up.”

Malfoy’s eyes blink open and he lifts his head to look at Harry. “Shit. What time is it?”

“Almost ten o’clock,” Harry tells him, picking up a piece of parchment that fell on the floor. “You usually don’t go to bed this early.”

“I usually don’t spend the day entertaining Teddy.” Malfoy looks down at his bed with a sigh. “I think I should just call it a night.”

“I’m going to turn in, too. Thanks for helping me with him today.”

Malfoy looks a little surprised to be thanked. He shrugs and starts gathering his parchment into a tidy pile. “It was… fun.”

“It was,” Harry agrees.

He leaves for the bathroom and smiles as he changes into his still-holey joggers. Now that lockdown is ending, he’ll be able to go buy some new ones. And he’ll be able to see his friends and have dinner at the Burrow and go back to work in the barely-controlled mayhem that is Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.

Harry’s surprised to find that he feels a pang when he thinks about not getting to kiss Malfoy anymore. Now that he’s discovered what that smirking mouth can do when it’s moving against Harry’s, it’s difficult to imagine not having it anymore.

Malfoy’s waiting outside the bathroom, already in his pyjamas, when Harry comes out. Back in the guest room, Harry climbs into bed but leaves the light on. Maybe Malfoy will want to make up for lost time, since they haven’t been alone together all day.

No joy. Malfoy puts his things away and gets into bed without even saying goodnight. Harry turns off the lamp with a disappointed sigh.

After only a minute, Malfoy groans. “I forgot to end the Silencing Charm on the room. Could you?”

“Sure,” Harry says, pulling his wand from beneath his pillow and aiming for the door.

“Wait! Be careful not to—”

But the _Finite_ is already out of Harry’s mouth.

There’s an enormous _crack_ , followed by the crash of something hard falling. Harry hits his head on the ceiling and fumbles his wand.

“What the _fuck_?” he shouts.

Harry manages to get a grip on his wand and casts a _Lumos_ at the same time that Malfoy turns on the lamp. Once his glasses are on, he looks over at the other bed. He expects Malfoy’s expression to be as startled as his own, but instead he looks put out.

When he turns towards the door, Harry sees that it’s perfectly intact. The wardrobe, however, has its doors blown off at the hinges. They’re on the floor, barely visible beneath a pile of…

Loo rolls.

Dozens and dozens of loo rolls. A few of them have rolled away from the wardrobe and across the room, like sheep that wandered away from the flock.

“What the hell happened?” Harry cries.

“You cast a _Finite_ at the wardrobe instead of the door and ended the Shrinking Charm I had on those. _That’s_ what happened.”

Malfoy’s out of bed now, wide awake and covering his eyes with one hand.

“This entire time, you had a stockpile of _loo roll_ in there?” Harry asks incredulously.

“You brought some, too! I know there was some in that box you brought.”

“Yes, about six rolls! Not…” Harry gestures at the floor. “ _Why_?”

“They said on the wireless the day lockdown began that the shops were running out! And that there might be shortages!” Malfoy says, his voice going a bit shrill. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a supply, just in case. It’s called _being prepared_ , Potter.”

That’s the last straw. Seeing Malfoy standing there in his pyjamas, waving his arms around in front of a pile of loo roll, is too much for Harry’s composure. He falls back onto his pillow and laughs until his stomach hurts and there are tears in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck you, Potter. I’m so glad you’re having a laugh at my expense. So happy to have been a source of amusement for you,” Draco snaps. Then he turns away in a sulk.

Harry gets himself under control with a few deep breaths. He slides out of bed and steps over a few loo rolls to stand beside Malfoy.

“You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.” Harry says, carefully.

Malfoy grumbles, “To you, maybe.”

“At least the doors didn’t fly off and hit us.” Harry puts a tentative hand on Malfoy’s waist.

“I’ll have to fix those in the morning, before Andromeda comes in here.”

Harry steps closer and puts his chin on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be easy. Just have to reattach the hinges.”

“Thank goodness the Silencing Charm was still up.”

Malfoy finally relaxes a little, so Harry turns his chin with gentle fingers and kisses him soundly.

“You still think I’m ridiculous, don’t you?” he asks.

“Only a little.” Harry pulls back with a laugh. “I just remembered…”

He finds the jeans he was wearing the day he arrived and fishes out the Shrunken loo roll from the pocket. He holds it up between his index finger and thumb.

“Took this out of my bathroom just before I Flooed here. Just in case.”

Malfoy smiles. “Idiot.”

They use their wands to stack all the loo roll in the corner next to the wardrobe and lean the detached doors against the wall. With a pointed look at Harry, Malfoy ends the Silencing Charm just before they turn off the light again.

“We’ll be in our own beds tomorrow night,” Harry yawns as he gets back under the covers.

“That will be nice,” Malfoy murmurs in reply. “Double bed. Egyptian cotton. Goose-down mattress topper.”

Harry huffs a soft laugh.

 _Ridiculous_ , he thinks fondly.

**Ten: Get Going**

Although lockdown ends at noon, Harry and Malfoy both agree to stay for lunch. Which is just as well—Harry doesn’t have any food in his flat besides tea, condiments, and maybe one very bruised apple that he thinks might be lurking in the back of the chilling cupboard.

He’ll go to the Muggle shops this afternoon. The ones in Diagon are going to be mobbed, and Harry has no intention of being elbow-to-elbow with half of wizarding Britain while they all restock their kitchens. Being stared at when he’s just dashing in for one or two things is bad enough.

He wonders what Malfoy’s plans are once he gets home. They haven’t spoken much this morning because he’s shut himself in the guest room to study again. Harry repacked his rucksack and stripped the sheets off his bed already, so he doesn’t even have an excuse to go up there.

Meanwhile, Harry’s supervising Teddy while he smears fingerpaints onto a large piece of parchment spread on the kitchen table. He’s caught his godson with a blue finger up his nose once already, which probably means he should be paying closer attention. Andromeda’s preoccupied nearby with making lunch, humming softly while she casts spells to chop and boil and stir.

Harry’s going to miss staying here, he thinks.

Malfoy shows up as Harry is _Scourgifying_ the last of the paint off the table. Teddy grabs his hand and tugs him over to the open window where his painting is hanging to dry. _Delightful_ , Malfoy declares, and praises Teddy on his colour-blending technique. Harry smiles, both at Malfoy’s critique and because he knows that Teddy achieved it by standing on his chair and smacking his palms onto the parchment.

Harry can’t help darting glances at Malfoy during the meal. He chats with Andromeda and Teddy—and ignores Harry— as much as he usually does, and Harry’s frustrated that he can’t get a read on Malfoy’s mood. He can’t even get Malfoy to look at him right now, which puts Harry more on edge. A mischievous idea pops into his head.

“When you go out to the shops, don’t bother buying loo roll,” Harry tells Andromeda casually. “There’s an ample supply in the guest room, it turns out.”

 _Ha, that’s better_ , Harry thinks, when Malfoy sets down his fork and glares at him. Harry grins back triumphantly.

Malfoy turns to his aunt. “I stocked up, just in case lockdown was extended beyond two weeks and it became hard to come by. It seemed prudent. I’d be happy to leave some here for you.”

“Certainly,” Andromeda says graciously, looking between Harry and Malfoy with amusement.

Harry tries to school his expression back into polite interest, lest he look smug. He’s just being _helpful_ , after all.

“I was going to leave it for her, you know,” Malfoy says when he and Harry go upstairs to get their things. “It would take me years to go through it all.”

The loo roll is still stacked in the corner and their bags lie on their respective beds. Otherwise, the room is back to its usual, unoccupied state. The doors are reattached to the wardrobe, perfectly aligned.

Harry laughs. “Well, I know where to go when I run out of loo roll and the shops are closed.”

He steps up to Malfoy and kisses him, now that he knows Malfoy’s not cross about him telling Andromeda. If he was, Harry would only be too happy to remind him about bringing up Harry’s joggers at lunch last week.

The kiss is lingering, but Malfoy pulls away sooner than Harry would like. He wraps his arms around Harry and holds him briefly. Harry swallows against Malfoy’s shoulder.

It feels like a goodbye.

Neither of them speak as they carry their bags out to the garden. The Floo Network is open again, but the Ministry asked that people refrain from using it today, if possible. There’s a chance that the Network could be overwhelmed by people eager to leave their houses, in which case the Department of Magical Transportation would have a crisis on their hands.

Teddy and Andromeda are waiting outside. Well, _Andromeda_ is waiting. Teddy’s hitting an old saucepan with a thick piece of stick. Harry swoops in to scoop him into his arms and plants a kiss on his magenta hair.

“It’s time for us to go home, kiddo,” Harry tells him. “I’ll see you next weekend, though, okay?”

Teddy lets the saucepan slip out of his hand onto the grass, narrowly missing Harry’s foot. “Okay! You can sleep in that room again.”

“I’ll just be over for the day. No need to sleep over again. Unless your gran invites me.”

“I think we could arrange that sometime,” Andromeda smiles. “I’ve never had such helpful houseguests, honestly. It’s been a pleasure having you both. And you managed to get along surprisingly well. Better than _you_ two could have ever imagined, hmm?”

“Yes, well…” Harry says, dodging her knowing look, at the same time that Malfoy clears his throat and murmurs something about _unusual_ _circumstances_.

Malfoy kisses her on the cheek, then takes Teddy from Harry for a quick hug. “See you soon, Teddy.”

They leave Teddy and Andromeda in the back garden and walk through the front gate in order to get beyond the wards. Harry expects to say goodbye to him, too, but Malfoy reaches out to touch his arm.

“I know you’re probably eager to see people,” Malfoy begins, looking uncertain.

“I’m going to see them at the Burrow tomorrow for lunch,” Harry says. A tiny current of anticipation runs through his chest. “I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day besides buying some food.”

Malfoy’s lips curl with satisfaction. “Would you like to see my flat?”

Harry holds out his arm and lets Malfoy Side-Along him without another word.

They land just inside Malfoy’s door. Harry slips off his rucksack and sets it down against the wall. It’s dim and stuffy in here, but he can already tell that it’s much nicer than his own flat. The ceilings are high and the walls are painted a stylish blue-grey colour. He reaches for Malfoy.

“Wait,” Malfoy says, shrugging Harry’s hand off his shoulder. He reaches into his bag and pulls out an envelope.

Harry follows him into the kitchen, where a grey owl sits on a perch next to an open window.

“Hello there, Orestes. I hope you’ve been staying out of trouble.” Malfoy scratches the owl’s head for a minute, then attaches the letter to its leg. “Take that to Mother, please. I’m sure she’s eager to hear from me.”

“Did you tell her?” Harry asks after the owl is gone.

“Tell her what?” Malfoy’s eyes widen when he understands. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not as if we’re _boyfriends_ now, Potter. I hope you don’t think—”

“No, no!” Harry says, holding up his hands. “Oh, my god, that would be…”

“Absurd? Inconceivable?” Malfoy asks. He reaches for the kettle on the stove out of habit, then stops himself.

“I was going to say _premature_. I mean, I think we only just realised that we don’t dislike each other a week ago.”

“You _like_ me?” Malfoy looks a bit stunned.

“Er, I like you sometimes, I think.”

“Sometimes,” Malfoy repeats, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the cupboards. “Which times, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?”

 _Oh, Godric._ Harry feels himself blushing and now he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. He pulls out a chair and sits at the table. Malfoy is still watching him, fingers drumming against his folded arms.

“When I see how you are with Teddy and Andromeda. And, um, when you’re kissing me?”

Malfoy looks unimpressed. “I’m not with my aunt and cousin at the moment, nor am I kissing you. Do you _not dislike_ me right now, Potter?”

“I might, as long as you’re not going to go back to being a little shit again,” Harry says, irritated. Then he sighs. He really does like Malfoy other times, too. Usually when he’s worked up and being ridiculous about something, like hoarding loo roll or having imaginary fevers. Or engrossed in his studies in the middle of a mess of books and parchment. But Malfoy would probably toss him out of his flat if Harry told him that. “Do you, er, you know…”

Malfoy studies Harry for a moment, conflicting emotions crossing his face.

“Possibly,” Malfoy says, at last. “I might need to spend some more time with you to determine that.”

Harry relaxes. It’s a better reply than he anticipated. “All right. Yeah, let’s just… spend time together. And we can figure it out as we go, I suppose.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

Malfoy uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the table. Harry meets him halfway.

“And you like kissing me. Go on, admit it,” Harry grins, sliding his arms around Malfoy’s neck.

He clearly hears Malfoy’s breathing quicken in the silent flat. There’s nothing to interrupt them now. No one to catch them.

“I suppose I do.” He pulls Harry closer by the hips and leans in to let his lips brush Harry’s. “When you’re not scowling at me.”

“I’ll try not to scowl,” Harry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Git.”

Malfoy kisses him fiercely, and Harry slips a hand up into his hair to kiss him back just as hard. Even though there’s no rush, things accelerate quickly—like a racing broom, Harry thinks, when you lean forward too fast. He’s almost dizzy from the rush of sensations. Mouths pressing and sliding. Hands grasping, trying to find the best place to hold on. Bodies flush against each other, breathing hard.

When Malfoy tugs him towards the doorway, Harry hesitates.

“I should tell you…” he mumbles, ducking his face into the crook of Malfoy’s neck in embarrassment.

“That you haven’t hooked up with a man before?” Malfoy finishes for him. “I guessed that already. We don’t have to, if you’d rather not.”

“It isn’t that! I mean, I haven’t before, but I _do_ want to. It’s just that… Oh, god.”

“What?” Malfoy asks, tensing within Harry’s arms, as if he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to hear.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and blurts, as quickly as he can, “I haven’t wanked in two weeks.”

Malfoy lets out a choked kind of laugh. “ _Potter_. You… Why ever not?”

“I was afraid you’d come back into the room! And there wasn’t time in the shower, so…” Harry clings to Malfoy so he doesn’t have to see his expression. “Anyways, I just wanted to tell you. You know, in case. For fuck’s sake, don’t laugh!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” Malfoy says, even though Harry can feel him shaking. He gets a hold of himself after a few breaths, then slides a hand down to cup Harry’s arse firmly. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers with a soft gasp, trying to squirm closer.

“I’m going to show you my bedroom now.” Malfoy’s voice falls to a deep murmur in Harry’s ear. “And my bed.”

Malfoy squeezes hard.

“Double bed. Egyptian cotton,” Harry pants. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy laughs. He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and guides him through the flat.

“You know what, Potter. I think I _sometimes_ like you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Visit me on [Tumblr](https://xanthippe74.tumblr.com/).


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